


Plausible Deniability (an Operation Leopard remix)

by keerawa



Series: Can a Leopard Change His Spots? [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, BAMF John, Covert Operation, Gen, John Works For Mycroft, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Pre-Slash, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 00:02:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3669969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keerawa/pseuds/keerawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The British government is widely recognized in the intelligence community for its skillful management of human assets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plausible Deniability (an Operation Leopard remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Operation: Leopard](https://archiveofourown.org/works/318486) by [nox_candida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nox_candida/pseuds/nox_candida). 



Holmes stood at his rain-streaked window, neck craned to watch the people scurrying like ants along the pavement. He could have claimed a larger office, one with a better view and more luxurious furnishings, easily enough. The fact that he chose to work out of the office of a mid-level bureaucrat was a not-so-subtle message to those he summoned here to meet with him. He cared not for the trappings of power; only for power itself.

He had narrowed the possible candidates down to three. Adler was a brilliant woman - beautiful, seductive, and deceitful. Holmes wasn't certain if his brother would surrender to Adler's charms, or reject her for the poisonous snake she most certainly was at heart. 

The second candidate, Agent Kona, was a tall, dark, striking young man, fluent in six languages and a dozen forms of martial arts. A solid asset in the field, but rather conventional in his thinking. Sherlock would undoubtedly become bored of him within a week. 

The third candidate was Whisky. Relatively intelligent, he possessed impressive medical skills and was known as a crack shot. Short, blond, and unassuming, Whisky was about to be discharged from the service. 

All things considered, Whisky was the most promising of the three. Holmes had his assistant set up an interview for that afternoon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whisky reported to 'Pimms' in room 712, as instructed, at precisely 1500. He wasn't certain what this meeting was all about, but it couldn't be anything good. His PT was going well. He should have been integrating with a new team, studying background intel for a new assignment, getting in some time on the firing range to re-qualify. But none of that was happening, and no one would tell him why.

Whisky stepped into the simple office with its threadbare carpet and stood at parade rest. The man sitting behind the desk ignored him, leafing through a folder. Whisky took the time to study him. Tall, wearing a posh three-piece suit, he was definitely an analyst rather than an officer. 

Pimms laid the folder down on the desk and looked up. Whisky revised his opinion. Not _just_ an analyst. This was a man used to giving orders, and having them obeyed without question.

"It's not the shoulder injury, you understand," the man said in a plummy, vaguely mocking tone. "The issue is your psychological evaluation. It's been problematic for the past decade, but your squad-mates and your commanding officer repeatedly vouched for you. Your personal loyalty to them was enough to keep you, shall we say, on the side of the angels. Given the fact that you managed to get them all killed on that last mission, you can understand why the service might feel it's time to retire you from active duty."

Whisky gritted his teeth, hands clenching behind his back, and then smiled thinly. "Old agents like me don't retire, sir. We're taken out back and shot."

Pimms raised an eyebrow. "Given recent developments, that may be more true than you know." He stood up, indicating the manilla folder on the desk. "I have a mission for you. Deep-cover, long-term undercover work."

Whisky stepped forward to pick up the folder and quickly read through it. The subject was a British citizen, one Sherlock Holmes. The name was completely unfamiliar and the information indicated a man who was an unusual target: tall, dark, curly hair, young, worked with Scotland Yard in some undefined role. Former drug problem. 

Mission objective: romantic relationship.

His head snapped up. “Romance, sir?”

“Mmm,” Pimms said noncommittally, studying his reactions. "If you're concerned about your ability to perform in such a scenario, you needn't concern yourself. Our psychological profiles are comprehensive."

Whisky shifted awkwardly, clearing his throat. "Is this man, Holmes, suspected of treason? Buying or selling information, perhaps?"

"On the contrary," Pimms said, leaning forward onto his desk. "The man is a valued, if under-utilized, asset. He requires close protection from both common dangers and a … specific potential threat."

Whisky felt his heart rate pick up, just slightly, then slow back down like it would on a mission. "If it were a typical threat, you wouldn't need me," he said, settling into the chair in front of the desk. "Read me in."

Pimms nodded once and sat back down. "The various special forces and intelligence services of Great Britain have always restricted information about our current and former soldiers and operatives under the most stringent need-to-know requirements."

Whisky nodded. That was the only way to protect their people, and their families.

"So it wasn't until this fall that a financial audit turned up a rather startling fact. An unprecedented number of recently discharged and retired individuals from all branches, with covert skill sets and no dependents, have disappeared."

Whisky sat back in his chair. Men and women with no dependents? That could only mean … "Someone's recruiting."

"Precisely," Pimms agreed. "All we know about this organization is a name – Moriarty. Once they've recruited their foot soldiers, they will be seeking generals. And this man," he said, tapping the folder, "is a probable next target."

Whisky nodded, mind racing.

"I've sent four operatives to infiltrate Moriarty since I learned of its existence," Pimms warned him. "Three were returned to me in pieces, and the fourth appears to have switched sides. I've included Sebastian Moran's photo in your briefing materials. Do feel free to shoot him on sight; he would undoubtedly return the favour. This mission is likely to be - quite dangerous."

Whisky grinned. "Not a problem, sir. I'm lead on the operation?"

"Of course," Pimms said.

"Right. At first glance, I think I have a way in. Holmes spends a lot of time at St. Bart's, and I've got a contact there, Mike Stamford. We went to school together at Bart's, back before I joined the army. If we go that route, I'll need to use my original identity, John Watson. Is this time critical?"

"You need to be in position within six weeks. My assistant in 714 will help you with the arrangements. Dismissed, agent."

Whisky left the office with half-hearted salute, mind clearly on the mission ahead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Holmes settled back into his desk chair, steepling his hands before his mouth.

A few minutes later, a text arrived from his assistant. Whisky had already determined that Sherlock would need to be evicted from his Montague Street flat. Holmes, amused, confirmed the decision. This John Watson could be the making of his brother – or make him worse than ever. Either outcome would be acceptable.

Because while Sherlock may or may not be an eventual target for recruitment, there was a 98% chance that Moriarty would attempt to recruit _Whisky_ within six months of his dismissal from the service. Moriarty recruited the most skilled, and the most damaged, and Whisky was right at the top of both lists.

Sherlock categorically refused to assist on cases of national importance, but as a child he had always been rabidly possessive of his toys. When Moriarty tried to recruit 'Doctor Watson' away from Sherlock, they would be facing a near-feral agent and an irate, uncontrollable genius.

If that didn't send Moriarty scuttling out of the shadows and into the open, nothing would.


End file.
